Practice for the Returning to the Real World

Today for the first time in 15 months I had to catch a commuter train into London. For the first time in 15 months I had to brave to the Circle and Northern lines at rush hour. For the first time in nine years I had to sit in the corner at a publishers and do eight hours of on-screen editing work whilst really annoying women with obvious eating disorders bitched and talked about designer label fashion in grating transatlantic or old family silver accents. I have to repeat the whole experience again next week.

As Surreal Girl said at lunch: ‘It’s probably good practice for returning to the real world.’ Though I will try to engineer it that any ‘real world’ I inhabit will be as free as possible of the sound of Chelsea inflection females bitching about people they know who ‘could never wear Zara Rhodes’.

I also suspect that any future ‘real world’ will not feature the sight of Chris Eubank parking an impossibly big truck on a busy London street and then offering to sign autographs for bewildered passers-by on a regular basis. This is a shame. It was second only to an hour in Hanover Square for putting a smile on my face.